To Have And Have Not
by Ink On Paper
Summary: And in hindsight . . . . Tag to One Last Score.


**A/N: Did ya miss me? Geez, it feels like I haven't posted in forever! I blame school and life in general . . . . Anyway, the third grading quarter ended yesterday and I have a long weekend and no homework, which means: I get to write! I have a ton of stuff sitting on my desktop, gathering cyber dust, waiting for completion and I intend to tackle several pieces while I'm on this brief vacation so look out. There's a oneshot from the Enemies arc that I plan to have finished and posted by Monday at the lastest and there may be a little Our Forever update at some point . . . . To Have and Have Not is a tag to One Last Score, so spoilers for that, I suppose. And nobody freak out, but I kinda liked EJ -not for DiNozzo, of course, but I like her character in general, just saying :^) (Though I am not a fan of that last scene . . . . Grr.) I'll stop talking now and let you read. I hope everyone is well, keep the peace and much much love, until next time, Kit!**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own 'em.**

**"To Have And Have Not"**

When she unlocks the front door and lets him in, the cardboard boxes are the first things he notices.

They're everywhere, some haphazardly stacked along the walls, some perching on the kitchen counter, others sitting on the floor, yawning open, spilling newspaper and packing peanuts all over the tile. The living room is, mostly, unpacked; an old leather couch occupies a wall that's covered with art –modern art and classic prints, vivid colors, landscapes, people, places, things. Several shelves are placed throughout the apartment with an array of objects on display. Silver sculptures and clay pottery, wooden figures and blown glass dishes. Japanese catanas and Chinese fans, African tribal masks and a small library of travel guides. And a small army of porcelain elephants-

It should bother him that he can walk around in a stranger's home this easily, studying their personal possessions, glimpsing into their lives, more or less uninvited. It's no different than perusing a museum exhibit or reading an autobiography, he thinks.

"Do you think investigating crime scenes desensitizes us to snooping around?"

She watches him thoughtfully over the rim of her beer bottle, an amused eyebrow quirked upward. "Depends," she drawls lazily, "do you make it a habit of snooping around women's living rooms outside of a working context?"

He never does reply to her question because he's leaning forward in deep inspection of another photo. EJ's leaning against the hood of a beat-up Fiat 133, head thrown back, caught mid-laugh as her hair tumbles loose of its braid. Three other people he doesn't recognize also occupy the shot, two men and a woman. One of the men is in his late forties with grey temples and an easy smile twisted in mirth; the other is a considerably younger Spaniard, also in the throes of humor. The fourth person is a tall, lanky redhead of indiscernible age though most likely too old for the short skirt she's wearing.

"I can't remember what was so damn funny," EJ says from his shoulder and he startles because he didn't realize she had moved.

"Your team in Rota, I presume?" And he adds an extra flourish with his 'r.'

"That's very astute of you, Special Agent DiNozzo."

"Were they transferred with you?"

"Do you mean were we all shipped in the same box? Yeah, but I think we got separated at customs . . . . Seriously, though, I don't know. Vance is telling me one thing and Simon another –my partner, by the way," she clarifies, gesturing at the frame.

"Nice looking team," he says for lack of anything else and the spaces between the words are even awkward.

"Thanks, I think." The leather on the couch sighs as she flops back down against the cushions, propping one ankle up on the glass coffee table. "So . . . . Why didn't you take it?"

He braces himself, opting to play dumb for a moment, buy some time, gather his thoughts even though he'd seen this question coming. "Take what?" And the look she pins him with is enough to call his bluff.

"Rota," and she's humoring him. "You were offered it, weren't you? You were good enough . . . ." _Weren't you? _And he hears the unspoken question at the end and wonders if she intentionally meant to leave that space for his brain to fill in words.

He perches himself on the arm of what appears to be an antique wing backed chair. "I told you," he says, slowly, "I like the team I have."

She nods, mulling this over and he half hopes she'll be satisfied with his less-than stellar answer. She, of course, isn't and continues to prove his dawning realization that she's one relentless chick, "Yeah, but it isn't yours."

He closes his eyes, "No but-"

"You didn't think he'd come back." She doesn't need to elaborate as to whom she is referring.

He offers her a rueful grin, admitting, "I didn't think he'd stay."

"So why did you?" And that's the million dollar question.

_Because Kate wasn't there and the moustache was_. "Because they needed me. And," he pauses, debating on whether or not continue . . . . "At that point I had taken on a serious undercover op."

"Then what?"

He's mildly confused. "Huh?"

"Then what," she repeats slowly, grey-blue eyes staring at him steadily. "Clearly something happened after that. You're still here, aren't you?"

He gives a noncommittal, single-shouldered shrug. "I was compromised and everything hit the fan. I screwed up -epically. I felt like I had to prove myself again. . . . It was bad."

"Heavy damage control?" she wonders empathically.

"Yeah," he agrees absently, his mind already on the next chapter of the story. He takes another deep breath, "Then Jenny died. Under my protection."

EJ's seemingly unwavering poker face falters as her eyes widen and her eyebrows encroach upon her hairline. "That was you?"

"Oh, yeah."

"And they still let you work here?" she asks incredulously, voicing the same inquiry he'd often pondered himself.

He still has no answer to that, though, and decides to keep speculation on his employment a topic to muse over alone; "I was assigned agent afloat for a couple months after that."

She winces theoretically, "Ouch."

He smirks mirthlessly, "Tell me about it. . . . Then summer was over and Gibbs brought me back. And then there was the mole hunt…. And some, uh, diplomacy issues." She's staring in disbelief at the list of what's amounted to significance in the last seven years of his life so he jokingly says, "Lucky, aren't I?"

A bark of laughter escapes her throat, "Don't ever let me stand next to you in a lightning storm."

"We lost a team member that following spring." _And it was my fault._

"You coulda left then," she acknowledges and it sounds like cowardice.

He shakes his head, dismissing the thought, "We were a man down. They didn't need two holes to fill."

"So?" she challenges, taking another swig of beer, unconvincing nonchalance.

He remains obstinate in his decision, "No. Not after that. Everyone was still kinda reeling –I was still messed up, off kilter. She was my partner."

"The one you lost," she clarifies.

"Yes."

Her shrug is callously dismissive, "Time heals."

"You ever lost someone important to you?" he demands with more force than most likely necessary.

EJ's face shifts again, her eyes melting, almost, in intensity. When she speaks, her voice is contrite, "Sorry. . . Good point. . . ." When he continues staring at her, she lets out a shaky, self-conscious chuckle. "That question not rhetorical? Okay. Have I lost someone important to me? Yeah. I have."

Something akin to triumph enters his eyes and he asks carefully, determined to get her to understand, "If an opportunity arose and you could bring them back would you?"

She doesn't pause to consider her answer, "Hell yeah. In a heartbeat." And he wonders who it was that she lost. And then he decides he probably doesn't want to know. It's not his business.

He starts to tell her that it was a recon mission –initially. Instead, he says, "I got that chance."

The gears are turning in her head and he watches the cogs fall into place, watches understanding click in her eyes as she stares at him. "_That_ was you?" she asks and her voice is reverent almost, like she can't believe he's real –or still alive. "The real hush-hush thing off Dubai? I organized some SEALS to dispatch there, per Vance's orders. . . ."

"I should thank you."

". . . . Damn. . . . . It was Agent David, wasn't it?"

He lets his silence fill in the blanks.

"And you still stayed," EJ says softly.

"Things were looking up."

"Until Laura."

His head tilts to the side as he studies her at a new angle, "You knew Macy?"

She offers him a small smile, "Yeah. Trained together a coupla times. We were friends."

"The past came back to bite us in the ass and that took some more cleaning up."

"Life," she states as if that is the key to the universe.

"Yeah."

"And here we are."

"Here we are," he confirms, letting out a shaky breath he didn't had been stuck in his throat.

EJ doesn't speak, just sits, her eyes studying something just beyond his shoulder and most likely beyond the confines of the room. Slender fingers twist the bottle absently as she ponders whatever it is she's pondering. He stares at the window, trying to make out what lies on the other side of the glass, his view obscured by nighttime darkness and gauzy white curtains.

"Why are telling me all this, Tony?" she asks suddenly, brilliant blue eyes focusing sharply on his.

The question stumps him thoroughly and he finds himself unable to offer up an immediate response. She waits patiently, never retracting her gaze from him and if the spotlight she's shining bothers him, he doesn't show it. He mulls her words over and over and over and arrives at the same conclusion every time: "I don't really know. Objectivity, maybe? Why tell a bartender all your troubles?"

"Touché."

"You don't know me; you have no ties to me, no history, nothing." And it's true, right now, at this very instant in time, she means absolutely nothing to him and he, likewise, means absolutely nothing to her.

"What do you want Tony?" And she sounds tired, weary, and he can relate.

"I don't know," he murmurs, glancing away from her. But EJ has dragged this much information out of this man and he is not getting off the hook this easily.

"Yeah, you do," she argues, leaning forward, resting her elbows on her knees, intent on him hearing what she has to say. "You're looking, aren't you? You've acknowledged that you're looking for something and you know what it is."

"Perspective," he blurts, "Maybe I'm just looking for perspective. I coulda had your job."

"Yes."

"But you still wound up here."

"If you look at it like that," she allows.

"If I had taken the job," he contemplates aloud and he's beginning to actually get _it_, "If I had said yes, I'd be right back where I started."

"Maybe," she agrees.

"Huh. I guess I'm supposed to be here after all." She cocks an eyebrow at this conclusion and he's suddenly standing, eyes mildly frantic. "Thank you. For listening. For the beer."

"For not sitting you on your ass when you assaulted me in the shower?" she's teasing him now, a smile toying with the ends of her lips.

"That too," he amends and at least he looks appropriately sheepish.

"So you got what you came for."

"Yes."

"Where are going now?"

He pauses at the front door, suit jacket thrown over his shoulder, car keys in his hand. "I've somewhere I've gotta be."

**A/N: ?**


End file.
